Chapter 11: The King Wakes

"None of them," I said. "Not yet."

His head turned toward me, slowly.

"No one dies in the courtyard," I said. "I want them alive, and I want them in front of everyone, and I want to see their faces."

For a moment he looked at me with his red eyes.

Then the corner of his mouth moved.

It was the smallest smile, and I had missed it so much it hurt.

"You have been busy," Edmund said.

He swung his legs off the slab and stood.

He swayed once, and I caught his arm, and then he was upright and a head taller than any man in that courtyard.

The crowd stayed on its knees.

"Your Majesty," Rooke said, in a voice like silk pulled over a knife. "A miracle. We feared the worst. The court rejoices."

"It rejoices very quietly," said Edmund.

"A natural grief. A misunderstanding of the law."

"The law." Edmund looked down at the bleeding hand he still held in his. "I look forward to hearing it."

He turned his head.

"Hester."

"Your Majesty."

Hester stood at his elbow with her keys, and her black eyes were wet.

"Take the dukes' men's knives," Edmund said. "And hold the duke in his rooms until I send for him. Politely."

"It will be my pleasure," she said.

"And the two humans in the blue suite?"

"Locked in, sir. One of them has a broken arm."

"Good."

He lifted his voice, and it rolled across the courtyard like a stone falling in a well.

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